


Commutation

by Heliopause Entertainments (sleepy_wrestler)



Series: Peacekeeping [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, Swearing, oblivious Megatron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27238834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_wrestler/pseuds/Heliopause%20Entertainments
Summary: After taking awhile to settle back into the routine, Megatron finds he needs to ask Rodimus about what happened in the courtroom.Disclaimer: Suicide and some associated ideation is mentioned as a concept but is not focused on or graphic in anyway.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Peacekeeping [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986511
Kudos: 38





	Commutation

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate outcome for LL #25.
> 
> References are made to details from a work earlier in the same fic series.

_Commutation - Noun: the changing of a prison sentence or other penalty to another less severe._

Since returning to the ship and being released at last from the stasis cuffs that had bound him since he’d surrendered to Prowl’s custody, Megatron had not had time to really question his co-captain about motivations for lying to the council and practically begging for his sentence to be commuted to something... _anything_ else. It had been—well, calling it a _spectacle_ seemed to be an understatement. 

Lately though, he’d been too busy with the usual rigmarole of operating the vessel and the necessary adjustments to comply with the council’s ruling regarding his status. It was a complete and utter hassle, but compared to the alternative, he would suffer most any indignity, despite what he might say publicly or even privately about it. Still... the gravity of the events in that courtroom that day when he’d been, perhaps undeservedly, once again gifted life, tugged at him as he sat at his desk in the captain’s office, shoulders slumped from the weight of it while he looked over the routine, mundane reports of the day.

* * *

_The foreman of the council’s judiciary panel had just opened its... his... Megatron hadn’t been sure exactly given the foreman’s organic nature, but they had opened what had presumably been their mouth to pronounce the decision. After a number of days of being sequestered, the panel had at last come to a conclusion._

_“In light of the extensive evidence and testimony presented to this court over the course of this trial and the defendant’s own admissions of guilt, we have at last come to a decision regarding the fate of the Cybertronian designated Megatronus of Tarn.” Finally. At long last. He had long since been ready, he’d told himself, sitting there in the booth with his wrists bound—as a formality they’d said, even though he had cooperated throughout the proceedings._

_“Would the defendant please stand.” That had not been a request. It had been part of the theatrics, to better show the audience the fate of the monster they’d feared, to remind them that he had, in fact, been caught. Standing up when ordered, he had waited for the pronouncement._

_“Death. The defendant will be painlessly—“ That had likely been a concession made to appease council species with objections to judicial cruelty. “—rendered offline and then methodically disassembled by a qualified engineer appointed by the Galactic Council. The defendant will have a chance to submit a request for final wishes regarding the remains.”_

_Megatron remembered having opened his mouth to say something, though it would have been a disruption to the order of court if he had actually uttered something. Maybe he had just wanted to clarify what he had wanted done with his— **Bumblebee’s** —Autobot badge. That had probably been it. He’d already given Rodimus the only other possession he’d had._

_The chance had never come. Mouth still agape, he’d watched a burst of motion, a brightly-colored blur, from the side of the room zoom to the center of the court. An orange mech had indecorously leapt onto the bench, behind which countless witnesses had stood to deliver their testimonies throughout the trial. Dammit, he had been barred from attending the sentencing for a reason._

_“ **Wait!** ”_

_**No.** He couldn’t let Rodimus put himself in potential legal trouble like this on **his** behalf. He had tried to say something but had found his vocalizer clicking uselessly in his throat. Ultra Magnus had muttered something about the nightmare of contempt of court charges he would have to negotiate to get Rodimus out the hell-deep hole he had just started to dig himself. _

_“You guys are making a mistake! I object!” He had pointed an obnoxiously yellow servo at the foreman’s face._

_It had been difficult to hear the words whispered around the room. His focus had locked on the brash daredevil who had rushed to his defense in the eleventh hour, resplendent under the glaring lights of the court._

_“Rodimus of Nyon, you are disrupting the legal proceedings and, for the record, you cannot **object** to the sentence. Your prior... testimony has already been considered during the course of deliberations. You’re not even qualified to practice law—“ The foreman had been cut off by a defiant scoff from the top of the witness bench. Megatron could feel Ultra Magnus trying to not crush the datapad in his hands as they stood there in the defendant’s booth, unable to intervene._

_Hands on his hips and having adopted a wide stance, the former co-captain had held his head high like he usually did when he was about to rip a rulebook in half. If Megatron had not already been concerned about what absolute insolence would spew from the younger mech’s mouth, by **that** point he certainly would have been._

_“Watch me!”_

* * *

The list of restrictions and requirements provided by the council in accordance with his commuted sentence had been extensive, _byzantine_ even. To start with, barring any approved medical emergencies that couldn’t be handled on-board, he had been ordered to be confined to the ship for the remainder of his functioning—no regard given to the continued functioning of the ship however. This provided the freedom to travel almost wherever he wished but he would only able to touch the stars through a view screen or window. That had been the chief restriction, with everything else in the _agreement_ —if it could be called that, as though he’d been allowed to negotiate—subordinate. The ship had become his prison and Rodimus had been appointed, in a twist of the bizarre, the responsible party should Megatron be found in breach of contract. This had probably been a result of the fact that the demand for a commutation of sentence had been his.

Any and all access to weaponry and the on-board armory had to be removed from him, his access codes wiped from the database. He had been limited to a very narrow definition of unarmed self-defense and coordinating the ship’s peacekeeping missions, in which he could not directly engage. The closest thing to an armament he had been permitted was the non-functional barrel on his back, which he had only been allowed to keep for dysphoric reasons. He’d already been rendered a monoformer by Shockwave’s sadistic mutilation. Was that not _sufficient_? The very notion had been an insult added to an already salted injury. At least the testimony of an outside expert on Cybertronian psychology—the resident expert on the _Lost Light_ had recently resigned in a rather permanent way that was best left out of official reports and had thus been u _navailable_ —had allowed him to keep the paltry piece of near-useless kibble. All of that meant that any actual front-line combat and field leadership would be left to... Rodimus. 

That part hadn’t sat well with him at all. It hadn’t been as though the command situation hadn’t already looked like that when he’d _chosen_ pacifism on his own, with Rodimus leading in the field and whereas he’d stayed behind to provide tactical support. The outcome itself hadn’t been novel by any means. However, it had been the result of their choices, not something _imposed_ by an arbitrary authority. 

The door to the office slid open with a smack, jolting him out of his thoughts. Familiar, hurried steps approached before his chair was half-shoved aside as an orange race car ducked underneath his desk, presumably to hide from Ultra Magnus. As though he thought Megatron wouldn’t rat him out for shirking whatever duty it was this time. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Excuse me, Captain, have you seen—“ Right on time. He didn’t even bother looking over to the open doorway where he knew an exasperated Ultra Magnus stood, probably sorely tempted to slump against the doorframe after being on his feet all day tending to miscellanies. Megatron gingerly stuck a pede under the desk as a reminder to silence any self-defeating yelps of ‘co-captain’.

“No.” A blatant lie given how Rodimus had clearly been seen running in here from the bridge and there wasn’t exactly another exit.

“Of course, my apologies. If you see him, would you tell him I need that report on the armory’s inventory?”

“I will tell him if I have the _misfortune_ of seeing him.” He paused, setting the datapad aside before glancing over at their second—third?—in-command, elbow propped up on the desk. “You _do_ realize the data is only run monthly to meet our reporting requirements for the armory, yes? It’s _already_ been run this month. You must be exhausted; why don’t you go take your break?” 

The report hadn’t been run this month yet but he could convince a drained Ultra Magnus of it for at least a few minutes. The door slid shut as a grateful armor-wearing minibot walked off to take whatever constituted a break for him. Minimus had promised him he would destroy the armor. Megatron sighed again. A different problem for a different day.

“Get your foot out of my face, Megs!”

Ah. Yes.

He scooted his chair back away from the desk, taking his leg with him.

“I mean like, _thanks_ for covering for me and all, but you gotta watch where you put your damn _humongous_ feet.” Rodimus crawled back out from under the desk, brushing himself off absently. “We aren’t all built like solid slabs of titanium, y’know.”

“That report is something you can do in five minutes; I’ve seen you do it. What’s the matter—“ If interrupting was a competitive sport, he was pretty sure Rodimus would regularly take home trophies. This would be especially true with the dismissive hand wave that almost always accompanied the act, like the signature of an artiste. The gesture had become so familiar now that Megatron didn’t even have to look, a perfect, almost beautiful mental image playing out in his head.

“Shush! I forgot. I’ll do it after I refuel. Helps me gather my thoughts, okay? _Yeesh_.”

He thought to simply let the speedster go about his business, but.... The drawer full with too many motivational stars, now unable to close properly, caught his optic as a bit of light glinted off the metal peeking out.

“If you have a moment,” he said, moving back to his desk, now that it was no longer being occupied by a fugitive. “I’d like to ask you something.”

Rodimus had already made it halfway to the door, before he stopped and turned back around, wary. He did tend to bristle every time Megatron wanted to talk to him about something. Maybe he expected a lecture. Maybe he expected something else, but whatever it was, the unease, poorly disguised as agitation, was clear on the younger mech’s face. 

“What is it?”

“I—“ It wasn’t like him to open his mouth, words unprepared or so he liked to think of himself. Today though, he found himself a little at a loss. Rodimus shrugged and waved his hands expectantly, trying to prompt more words to emerge. He would just have to force the words across his vocalizer whether he liked it or not.

“No one’s ever done anything for me before and you... _you_ did all of this _for me_.” Never mind about the harebrained quantum leap experiment, the result of which by definition they could never know. “You stood there for me. In front of the council,” he clarified. “Why?”

“Well, it was either _that_ or telling them I’m carrying your sparkling, so—“ That would still have been a lie, just a different and somehow even _more_ scandalous one. It must have been clear from his expression that ‘explanation’ was both insufficient and that he was _not amused_. Rodimus scrunched up his face, setting his pedes wide apart and pointing a servo squarely at his co-captain’s chest-plate. He always tended to put up a brave front. It occasionally made Megatron wonder if there was anything that truly frightened his co-captain.

“I told you!” The words were hissed through grit dentae. “I’m _not_ letting you out of my sight. That doesn’t work worth slag if you’re _dead_ or unconscious in some cabinet until the inevitable heat death of the universe!” There was a brief pause and a flash of what looked like embarrassment on the younger mech’s face before he continued, voice quieter. “And now… now Prowl can’t take my— _our_ ship.” An excuse. Of course. While he knew Rodimus had been sore about Prowl trying to decommission the ship, he didn’t buy that as the whole reason or even most of the reason for the shenanigans that had granted Megatron a reprieve.

“Did you ever consider what _I_ wanted?”

“I wasn’t letting you die like that!” he snapped.

But he had been _ready_ to die. He’d resigned himself to it and made peace with his fate. All Rodimus had done was undermine his public resolve to make amends with another loophole and borrow him more time he hadn’t deserved. His life was at its end, what was the point of dragging out hope with an end point hovering ominously above his head like a weight suspended by a fraying rope? He offlined his optics and shifted in his chair, head tilted towards the floor.

“I seem to recall you saying that you _looked forward_ to seeing me die and that I _deserved_ it.” It probably also wasn’t fair to hold Rodimus to what he’d said so long ago, but the words had escaped before he could bottle them—Of course, he knew that things between them had changed since he first stepped onto the _Lost Light_ at Optimus’ behest. They’d come to a sort of… understanding, a friendship almost, but even then he could still hear the words spoken to him in his cell before his first trial as though it had been but a few seconds since. It hurt to remember and it hurt worse to _know_ that Rodimus hadn’t been in the wrong to feel that way back then, though perhaps he _had_ been a step out of line to express those feelings directly to the condemned mech’s face. No need to rub it in.

“No, for the record, I said _at least_ I’d get to watch you die. That’s different, not the same thing as _looking forward_ to it—Also that was like almost two years ago! Your memory must be failing you in your old age; Megs, you’re going _senile_!” There was a forced laugh, as though Rodimus needed to vent some pressure, the situation too serious for his liking. Even that forced laugh still stole the older mech’s attention, ringing in his audio processor.

He grumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he turned to go back to his reports. Rodimus wasn’t going to be forthcoming and Megatron had no interest in more idle bickering today. “Now I’ve just exchanged one prison for another—“ Rodimus raised a hand, cutting him off for the millionth time before objecting.

“But your new prison has _me_ in it. Doesn’t that count for something?” What a strange notion. Of course, he was glad to be able to spend more of his remaining time with his friends—He froze. _Friends._ Rodimus and Ultra Magnus and the others... were his friends. Of course, but _that_ too had a downside.

“And so _you_ become my jailer and thusly have imprisoned yourself. _Masterful_ plan, Rodimus.” He brought his hand down onto the top of the desk with a heavy smack that vibrated through the floor. “I hope you’re _proud_ of yourself. If I so much as _accidentally_ put one pede outside of this ship, it’ll be both of our sparks on the line—“

That was the part he couldn’t stand to think about. One mistake and someone he cared for would suffer right along with him.

“I am! I—“

“I know, I know, you’re not afraid and you don’t care what—“

“ _Shut up!_ For five seconds, just...” Rodimus took a deep breath, visibly trying calm himself down. The difference in volume when he spoke again was almost palpable. “Just... stop for like... five seconds, okay?”

Against his better judgment and his instincts to strive to always have the last word, Megatron shut up and stared. 

“You’re not listening to me. You’re always so absorbed in your own head. It’s not always about _you_ , Mr. I-Tried-To-Take-Over-The-Known-Universe-And-Now-I’m-Sad-About-It, alright? So what if what I did was selfish?”

“It was—“

“Uh-uh, shush, I’m not done. Like, chill, okay, big guy?” The orange mech waited a beat. “Remember what I said? I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re dead somewhere in a million pieces.”

* * *

_“_ _Look, look, I get it.” Now that the race car had captured the attention of everyone present, for better or worse, he had raised his hands with a situationally inappropriate ‘so what’ shrug. “He’s fucked up. We’ve all fucked up, and sure, he specifically fucked up big time for like four million years—“ A bailiff had started towards the witness bench at the first swear, as though to dislodge Rodimus from his newfound platform. The organic guard had then stopped short, after just a few steps, stared down by the grandstanding former Prime._

_“While he served on my ship, he put himself in jeopardy on numerous occasions for the benefit of others, specifically situations where the odds were great that he would die in the process.”_

_The foreman had then made some sort of slashing gesture across their throat, a signal to end this charade. “That is **quite** enough! We are all **quite** aware of the **seemingly** selfless actions he’s taken since joining your crew—“_

_“ **Shush!** Hold on; I’m not done.” A mocking, patronizing servo was waggled at the judicial panel before Rodimus continued. “He’s been high-key trying to off himself in the line of duty for **months**. Executing him **now** is fundamentally allowing him to commit judicially-assisted **suicide**.”_

_A few gasps had sounded from various parts of the room and from more than one member of the judicial panel. He had been sure that Minimus had been practically vibrating with several, conflicting feelings at once inside the hulking armor. It had been difficult to identify their various moral values but originally, he hadn’t been concerned. They had already decided to send him to what passed for a grave and that had been all he’d expected. But after Rodimus had called him and the panel out for something he hadn’t consciously known he’d been hurtling himself towards, no one could have predicted the outcome._

_“That’s not a punishment! You’re giving him what he **wants**. A real punishment would be **living** with his mistakes like the rest of us have to!”_

_The judicial panel had seemed to sigh as entire single entity, a few bemoaning the absurd nature of these Cybertronians._

_“And then,” the clearly exasperated foreman had begun, “what do you suggest instead?”_

_“I... have some ideas.” Megatron could have sworn then that he’d seen Rodimus wink at the foreman, but that had made no sense. A trick of the light, he’d thought, a feeling of uncertainty about his own fate once more having settled in his fuel tank._

* * *

“Yeah, you’ve been ready to kick the bucket—full offense to your actual bucket—from the word ‘jump’, but I’m n—“ 

Rodimus stopped to correct—no, _shield_ himself from the implications of his slip up.

“We’re not ready for you to not be here. You’re dense as a box of rocks sometimes, you know that?” After taking a moment to cross the distance between him and the desk where a dumbfounded Megatron sat, Rodimus pulled open the drawer of stars that was slightly ajar. “How much _clearer_ do I have to be that you’re _necessary_?”

In that moment, he realized... _exactly_ what Rodimus was afraid of.


End file.
